


the first few desperate hours

by InsertImaginativeNameHere



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Canon-Typical Violence, Everybody Lives, Listen....this is just me being on a bullshit train I promise I have Good Writing in the works, M/M, Period-Typical Racism, Post-Canon, Post-Rose Creek, This just ain't it, mindless self-indulgence - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-08-23 17:13:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16623059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsertImaginativeNameHere/pseuds/InsertImaginativeNameHere
Summary: When someone from Goodnight's past shows up in town, the life he and Billy have built may just be thrown into jeopardy.Potentially, anyway





	1. beginning

**Author's Note:**

> lisnten....im just a sucker  
> I wanted to have someone rock up and I wound up going for this bastardman out of my general assassin OCs I have. It's a problem. I'm sorry this is so OC focused I really I just wanted to do this premise I'm sorry
> 
> title from a song by the Mountain Goats because I'm an atrocity

For Billy, it begins when he’s fishing at the creek. Sam’s back in town, so he’s leaving him and Goody to catch up back at their home, the bungalow the Rose Creek citizens built for them, back when Goody was recovering and still barely able to stand-

And now he’s walking again, with a cane, but they both know he’d struggle with stairs, let alone trekking out again, so they’ve stuck to this. A home. 

He’s left the two to talking, anyway. They’re going to have fish for dinner. 

That’s when Billy hears it. Rustling in the undergrowth. He stops, hand going to one of his knives and resting there. Ready. He can draw faster than them. And he knows where they are. Whoever it is, they aren’t trying to be subtle. Probably not an ambush.

Better safe than sorry.

A bark, and a scrappy little dog dashes out of the undergrowth, followed by a kid. The kid’s small too, freckled, with quick, inquisitive eyes. Billy’s seen him before, in the groups of kids that watch him when he’s practising with knives. This morning. He’d wondered then, because he’d not seen him around before, and the kid stood out. 

On account of also being Korean. 

What, exactly, a little Korean kid is doing wandering around with a dog, Billy can’t help but wonder. 

“Hey,” he says, in English, then ventures to try their (presumed) mother tongue. “You’re like me, aren’t you?”

The kid shakes his head. “Nuh-uh,” he replies in English, answering the question and showing he understood, but is clearly more at ease in the language of the land. “I don’t know how to use knives. And I want to. I need to.”

“Need?” Billy raises an amused eyebrow. The kid’s endearing. “You in trouble, kid?”

“My name’s Vali,” the kid says. “Vali Kang. My dog’s called Loki. We’re both named after Norse Gods. My parents were really strange, until they got murdered. But my new dad killed the people who did it, don’t worry. He’s good. And you’re amazing. So we’re not alike, because you could stab my dad and I can’t. That’s why I want your help, so I can learn to use knives and cut my dad.”

Billy blinks. The kid talks a lot. And cheerfully, still smiling and kicking pebbles into the river. “Uh...okay? Why?” (what could you even say except that?)

Vali grins. “Because he said he’d buy me knives of my own if I managed to cut him even once. I’ve tried  _ everything _ . Even ambushing him in his sleep. No good. Then I saw you this morning and figured if I could get some help-”

Billy really, really doesn’t know how to deal with children at the best of times. Especially not children like this, who don’t...stop. He’s still not sure how to process the murdered parents, surrogate father challenging his kid to stab him, or the Viking names. He’s confused by all of it. But he glances at the fish on the bank and sighs.

“You like?” he asks. Vali nods eagerly.

“Sure!”

“How old exactly are you?” Billy asks him, as they walk back toward town. 

Vali shrugs. “Probably thirteen soon. I know, that’s hard to believe, right?”

“When I was thirteen, I’d already killed a man,” Billy replies. It’s not a story he wants to tell, particularly. 

“Nice.” Vali whistles. Doesn’t ask him to elaborate. Pretty soon he’s chattering on again, about his dog, about anything on their path. 

Billy stays quiet. Can’t help smiling, though. 

That’s how it begins.

 

-

 

He shows the kid up into their home, where Sam and Goody are a few drinks into their conversation. Goody is red-faced, exuberant, and a little too affectionate on seeing Billy to maintain any semblance of decency. Fortunately, Sam is both aware of their situation and utterly approving, and the kid isn’t paying enough attention to see the way Goody kisses Billy’s cheek.

“ _ Mon cher _ ,” he murmurs. Billy smiles faintly. “And...a very small infant. Billy. Is this the secret lovechild you never told me about?” 

He shakes his head and holds up his haul of fish. “Caught these for dinner. Ran into the kid. He wants me to teach him to knife fight, isn’t that right?”

“Oh?” Goody leans over, grinning wickedly. “You’ll be in good hands, kid. I tell you, there’s no finer man with a blade in all the world, and that’s no word of a lie. His hands can work wonders.” Goody tries to entwine their fingers; Billy unlinks them, rolls his eyes, and walks over to their kitchen space to begin work. 

He notices Sam eyeing the kid with more than a little caution, and frowns. Sam’s sensible. If Sam’s uneasy, for any reason…

Goody is oblivious of this. So, it seems, is Vali. Billy regrets bringing him home; this house only needs one overly talkative occupant at any given moment, and that vacancy is capably filled.

“Yeah, I need to stab my dad,” Vali says brightly. 

“Oh? He a mean one?”

“Nope! He’s great. He challenged me to do it.”

“Ahh, that makes sense.” It doesn’t. Except maybe to drunk Goody. “Well, your Pa can’t have reckoned with Billy Rocks. Quickest knife hand born. You’ll be unstoppable, under his tutelage. Isn’t that right, Bill?”

Billy guts the fish wordlessly. Prepares them. Puts them on to cook. Goody ignores his silence and keeps on chattering on, the kid chattering too, until Sam speaks up.

“Your father…”

“Adoptive father, really,” Vali interrupts. “But he’s like the real thing. What about him?”

“Where’s he from?” Sam’s voice is careful, and measured. But it stops Vali in his tracks. “It’s just, well, I can almost hear a twang in your accent, and I was wondering if you got it from him.”

“He’s Texan,” Vali says, eventually. “I better run along now.” He gives them all a sheepish bow, and backs out of the door, followed by his dog. Billy can see them running away through the window. 

“What was all that, Sam?” Goody asks, confused. Billy leaves the cooking and comes to sit by his lover, safe to properly be one another’s other half. To be complete together. 

Sam, in his chair, pulls a grim face. “You remember James. Texan James?”

Goody’s face falls. The pleasant drunkness, which Billy had suspected was mostly a facade, falls away like the front it is. “James Kang? Naw. He’s dead, Sam.”

“Kang,” Billy says. Both look at him. “The kid said his name was Vali Kang. We don’t have many surnames, so it’s not necessarily a link, but-”

“It is,” Sam replies. “I ran into him in the inn, Goody. James. Came here to tell you he’s in town.”

Goody  _ blanches _ . “You- you can’t have, Sam. He’s dead. I killed him.”

“Who is he?” Billy asks. Judging by Goody’s reaction, he’s someone from the war. Judging by Sam’s sincerity, he’s someone to be wary of. Billy is words away from walking down to the inn and cutting this Texan James a new mouth across his throat, if it’ll settle Goody down.

“A spy,” Sam says, at the same moment as Goody says, “An assassin.”

They share a look. Billy doesn’t doubt both are right, just coming from different sides as they are, approaching the truth from their own angles. 

Goody runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “A dead assassin,  _ cher _ .” Sam goes to speak, and Goody waves him off. “Sam. You know when I used to shoot a man, I’d hit my target. I shot him in the head. He’s dead. Whoever you met at the inn-”

“He was travelling with his old partner. Unless he fell for a fake too...or if you’re saying I was tricked by a pair of fraudsters….Goody, I’m not saying you didn’t hit him. I’m just saying he isn’t dead.” Sam takes a long swig of his drink and stands. Billy stands too. He’s made his decision.

He will kill. To keep Goody with him.

Sam blocks him in the doorway. “Mr Rocks. By your own admission, you don’t know who you’re dealing with.”

“Don’t need to.” His hand runs to his knives. 

Behind him, he hears Goody hauling himself to his feet. “Billy. Let’s just settle down, have dinner and talk this over, alright? We can go to the inn guns blazing once we’ve got a good meal in us, yes?”

Reluctantly, he does. Sam lingers in the doorway, taking glances outside. As if they’re hunted animals, caught in a trap. 

They might yet be.

The kid might have come to scout them out.

That thought hurts, that Vali was false. He’d seemed a genuine kid. If a little forced with his cheerfulness. He’d wanted to learn. 

Which doesn’t rule out scouting.

He serves up the food and sits down at the table, arms folded. “So. James Kang.”

“Texan James,” Goody murmurs. “Alive. Damn.”

“Are you going to tell me about him?”

Sam comes to the table and sits down. He nods. “Korean, born in Texas. Came North, and joined up for the Union. He worked as a spy in the day.”

“An’ a killer,” Goody adds. “Used to pretend he didn’t speak a word of English up until the last moment. When just like that, the drawl would come out. An’ then he’d kill you. Perfectly decent guy, really. Could never blame him for what he wound up doing. No different from my work. Except the side. The side was…” he trails off. Glances at Sam, apologetically. 

Billy reaches across and squeezes Goody’s hand. 

“You met him, then?” 

Goody swallows, and nods. “Three times. I shot him, Sam. How’d he come through that?”

“Got a scar across his forehead,” Sam replies. “From the look of him, he walked it off.”

At this, Goody smiles weakly. “Tough bastard. Sam-” his tone takes a turn for the serious. “You don’t think he’s here to make trouble? Only, ha, I ain’t exactly up to fighting him off anymore.”

“Hey. Goody,” Billy starts. “I’m here. Just say the word.”

“I don’t want…” Goody pulls his hand away, clenching his fists. “I know, Billy. I know you’d win. I just...I’ve seen James’ skills before. He’s not someone I want you going into a fight with. Not alone. The others, they’re in town too, right, Sam-”

“If he is here to make trouble, I’m sure he’ll listen to reason?”

Goody scoffs. “You sure? He was known as the Union’s mad dog, you know that?”

Sam shrugs. “We both know he’s reasonable when the fancy takes him to be. We’ll settle this calmly. No bloodshed. Unless absolutely necessary,” he adds, for Billy’s benefit. Billy inclines his head. That’ll do.

He helps Goody to his feet and supports him. Goody curses whenever he trips.

They head to the inn.

To face whatever awaits them.

 

-

 

For Goodnight, it begins years ago. When he was the man who earned his nickname. Angel of Death. It hasn’t come to sicken him yet. He’s young, and he’s with a friend, who he admittedly doesn’t know well, and is only hanging around with for the money he so eagerly flaunts.

He quickly learns the man is an ass, when he kicks an Asian labourer out of the way.

“Move it, Chinaman!” And he spits at the stranger. The stranger says nothing, but bows profusely, over and over. 

Goody, even then, isn’t a total bastard. He isn’t nice, and he would do despicable things still, but he is disgusted by what his companion does. He gives the man a coin. Nothing much, but something for the road. His companion, whom he is swiftly distancing from the word friend, rolls his eyes with disdain.

“You can’t encourage scum like that. They’re not like us. Uncouth savages,” he sniffs. Goody grits his teeth and keeps walking.

Later that evening, he’s looking for his associate. No sign. Apparently he went for a walk. Wanted air. There’s a trail, which Goodnight follows. He follows the aftermath of the man into the woods. Everything is very, alarmingly still, except for the sound of an owl hooting.

Then, a fire. Humming. He sees the man he’s looking for sat there, still, flames casting shadows on his face. It’s when he gets closer he realises the man is dead, throat slashed. No sign of the hummer. No sound.

A click. Gun against his head.

“Well hey there, friend,” a voice drawls. “How’re you doing? Now, I’ll thank you kindly if you put your back to the that there tree.” 

He obeys. If the man wanted him dead, he’d kill him. This is a hopeful sign that he might make it out alive. The man ties him tight, and saunters back around, into the firelight. 

It’s the labourer from earlier, of course. On recognising Goody, he laughs. “Mister Robicheaux! Now how have you been?” He flips a coin in his hands, rolling it across his fingers. “Hope you weren’t attached to this charming gent.”

“Can’t say I was,” Goody replies, matching the killer’s casual tone. “So, you’re full of shit, then. Playing all ‘no English’ when you’re goddamn Texan as anything.”

“Yeah,” the man laughs. “The look on his face when I introduced myself. Was priceless. I’m James, by the way. Pleased to meet you. Gotta say, I admire your work.”

“Not enough to fight on the right side of history,” Goody replies (because he’s arrogant enough, right now, to believe it).

“History ain’t written yet,” James growls, suddenly low and mildly terrifying, in that he holds Goodnight’s life in his hands. “We’ll see when this is over which side was right. Besides, you think your side would want me? A ‘Chinaman’? Can’t even get my nationality right. No sir, I’m with people who respect my skills and don’t see my skin and my eyes and  _ hell _ . You understand, Mr Robicheaux?”

Goody would shrug. But James had tied him to a tree, of course. He can’t say he doesn’t see the man’s points. And he can’t say how history will turn out.

“I’ll make sure someone comes to find you,” James says, “In a couple of days. For now, how about a campfire song? You know any ghost stories? Hungry? I make mean grits, just saying.”

There’s a dead body on the other side of the fire. And James Kang is cheerful, offering food. His gun is never far from his hand.

It’s an unusual evening. But the dinner isn’t bad. When they stay off politics, the conversation isn’t either.

By the morning, James is gone.

That’s how it begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went w James, btw, because I wanted the character I chose to be able to relate to both Goody and Billy somehow. Obviously it was always gonna be about Goody's history, but out of my characters, I thought the contrast in personality between Billy and James would be entertaining.
> 
> I hope I can write these characters well and that you guys enjoy. 
> 
> please hit me up if you have any concerns, btw, about portrayals of any characters. I want to be sensitive and I want to be conscious of my role as a writer. Thank you very much for your patience with this longass endnote.


	2. middle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have proper fics written for this fandom I swear I will type up my decent stuff over christmas until then you gotta put up with me existing loudly

“...an’ the second time we met, it was at a party. I recognised him, posing as a servant. Then he held me at gunpoint and insisted we play a round of poker, while his friend went and killed the Governor,” Goody continues. For once, he isn’t exaggerating. That’s how it happened. “It was a month or so later we met again, in the field. Saw him kill a lot of good men, ‘fore I was able to put him down. I thought for good. Apparently not. It’s kinda relieving, actually. He was always a charming sonuvabitch, shame to kill him. War’s war, though. Enemies are the people you’re told are enemies.” He looks over at Sam. “Glad it ain’t like that now.”

“Maybe. Maybe not,” Sam says, quietly. “Still plenty of people who see me as an enemy purely ‘cause they were told men of my colour weren’t deserving of respect.”

Billy nods sagely. Goody studies him, trying to figure out what he’s thinking. Is he still ready for a brawl? On some level, Billy’s always ready for a brawl. But is he  _ looking _ for a brawl? 

“Was he the first Korean you ever met?” Billy asks, curiously. 

“First I spoke to, yeah. Man to man, as equals.” They’ve reached the inn by now. He detaches himself from Billy’s arm, limping and leaning on his cane. His heart is trembling in his chest. 

Horne is there, at least. If things turn south, there’s their mountain man, looming in the corner, set apart as always. If he hadn’t found love in this town, Goody didn’t doubt he’d have wandered right back into the woods.

There’s a game of cards going on. Faraday as usual at the head of it. Vasquez and even Red are accounted for there too. It’s a known phenomenon that, no matter how hard Faraday cheats, Red is impossible to beat. His poker face is inscrutable. He and Billy get along mighty fine. Deadpan sumbitches. 

The whole seven. It’s rare, these days, that they’re all in town. Horne, of course, lives here. Faraday and Vasquez travel through as companions every now and then, Faraday’s lurid burn scars a reminder of the fire that had fused them all together. Red comes and goes, often with Sam. Sometimes he shows up at their place alone, stays for a few nights, and vanishes. There’s no pattern to his behaviour. He just is. 

Once, they’d held off an army. 

Whatever comes next, they can fight it. 

Vali is sat near the door, playing with his dog. When he sees them, he jumps up. Runs over to the poker table, and tugs at a man’s arm. The man cuts off laughing and turns. Slowly, deliberately. He meets Goody’s eyes. For a moment, he looks shaken, but it’s only brief, before he starts to laugh, drawing himself to his feet and walking over. Faraday moves to look at the cards he’s left; Vasquez nudges him and both, now, turn to observe the scene.

The man’s going bald, but not grey. There is, like Sam said, a scar just across his forehead, where Goody knows he shot the man all those years ago. Behind him, another man (white, blond,  _ concerned _ ) tries to pull him off course. But James fixes Goody with a look of purpose, and laughs raucously.

All hands are, consciously or not, on weapons. Horne has taken notice, and if Goody made the gesture, he knows everyone would attack. Back him up. The whole town would.

He doesn’t.

“You tough sonuvabitch,” he says. “You’re seriously still kicking?”

James laughs again. “That’s me. Don’t die easy. Whew! I owe you a drink, Robicheaux. You certainly got me good.”

Goody has experienced many things in his life, but a man he  _ killed  _ saying he  _ owes him _ is not one of them. This whole thing is insane. 

Billy says something, then. Something Goody doesn’t altogether follow or understand. Try as he might to learn Billy’s native language, he’s never got far with it. Beyond bedroom talk. But he knows Billy, and knows by the look on his face whatever he just said must have been a threat.

James blinks, and then gives a wry smile. He says something back, and now Goody sees Billy - crack up? 

“Your accent is terrible,” Billy says. “You sound worse than this one.” He nudges Goody affectionately. 

The white guy behind James snorts, says something himself, and heads back to the bar, shaking his head in resigned confusion. 

Billy looks impressed. “Why does he speak better Korean than you do?” 

“‘Cause he’s a goddamn asshole,” James replies. “Yeah, fuck you Calvin.” The man ignores him. Clearly, they know each other well. The room seems to have settled, everyone realising nobody means any harm. It could easily reignite again, but for now it’s alright. Goody is able to exhale.

James turns back to them. “I’ll get a round of drinks for everyone. Y’hear that? Next one’s on me.” Faraday’s on his feet quicker than you can say ‘opportunist bastard’. They head to the bar, where Calvin drinks stolidly and says nothing. On the way, James ruffles Vali’s hair. The kid seems happier with the present situation, and sets about pestering everyone. He’s a good kid. 

Definitely weird though. Adopted or no, he’s James’ kid. Right now, he’s got Horne cornered, and is demanding to hear stories. Horne looks taken aback. That makes Goody smile. His hands are still shaking with nervous tension, but the kid’s persistent chattering makes him smile. 

“Here,” James says, sliding him his drink. “One kill you can scratch off your count.”

God, yes. One less death he’s caused. It’s a relief. He drinks. Billy’s presence keeps him steady throughout all of this utterly surreal evening. 

He downs it.

Warmth.

 

-

 

Faraday shoves his way up beside them. “Go on,” he insists, urgently. “What’s the story? ‘Cause I’m sensing a story here.”

Goody and James share a look. 

Before jointly launching into the most patently,  _ blatantly _ false narrative they can think of. It involves a giant gator, which Goody introduces, and James claims to have ridden into battle. It’s preferable like this, to fictionalise the truth, rather than address the raw ugliness of it all. 

Billy, having heard the real story, rolls his eyes, but says nothing. James’ partner is similarly silent. Vali, now  _ he  _ looks on with wide eyes, glowing with excitement.

It still all feels a little too good to be true. 

Goody’s terrified what will happen when it comes crashing down.

 

-

 

The first thing Billy has figured about James Kang is that he’s a liar. Much in the same way Goody lies, with a false affability, an exaggerated friendliness. He spends money easily. He charms. And it’s false, it’s fake. Billy can see right through it.

What he doesn’t understand, initially, is why. Is he here for Goody? But no, that makes no sense. No matter how extroverted an assassin is, he doesn’t make this much of a scene. He doesn’t sing bar songs loud, off-key, in an accent so thick you could strip paint. What is his goal of this performance? Why is he acting?

Billy finds out when he steps outside for air -- he isn’t one for crowds, he likes to stand outside in the night and take in the feeling of it all, just for a moment, before heading back in  _ (been in enough hostile crowds to instinctively feel ill-at-ease around too many people, even people he knows and likes and trusts) _ . He steps out into the night, and only moments later, the door swings again behind him, and he turns.

James Kang is grinning, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. His eyes, Billy notes, are guarded. Wary. He masks his fear with a smile.

He masks his strangeness with an accent.

“What do you want?” Billy asks him, low, quiet. “In this town?”

“You gonna stop looking at me like I’ve got a gun to your friend’s head?” James doesn’t answer, but his smile does fall away. 

“If you answer my question,” Billy replies. “You know, I  _ will  _ gut you if you hurt him.”

James chuckles. When he speaks next, it is in Korean, and his broken accent is gone. “I promise you now, I’ll never do that. No lies, no bluffing, no bullshit. Just the truth.”

“I knew you were faking. Your English, too. That’s all an act, isn’t it?”

“I did grow up in Texas,” James admits. “But I find it amuses them all to hear that voice coming from a man like me, like us. Opens doors, sometimes. They’re either entertained, and it’s a novelty, or they’re forced to see a countryman, whether they like it or not. Some will never like it, and that’s their business, but even then, it throws them off. They don’t expect it. And hey, you laughed, didn’t you?”

Billy nods. 

He’d always dealt with this country by drawing inwards. This was a man who processed it differently, who created a new self and showed only that. No wonder his eyes are so hunted, so guarded. Billy’s seen eyes like that a thousand times, all across the railroads, in myriad forms. With their own pain. 

They head back inside, before either of them are missed.

Perhaps, he understands the man better.

Vali’s waiting by the door, with a knife, which James deftly removes from him even as the kid goes to stab him. 

“Gotta try harder than that, kid,” he says, tucking the blade into his pocket. “But good effort.”

Then again, perhaps not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said to someone that my fc for James is Song Seung-heon.  
> Obviously James is a little older during this fic, but if you wanna see a man who is both attractive, and smug about being that insufferably attractive, there you go.
> 
> Listen, I'm just writing this for some level of like....warmth and comfort in the cold of academia and my own existence. It's entirely self-indulgent and if you guys like, that's chill, but likewise if I lose you, it's also chill with me because....im big sad and i need sth to make me feel good.


	3. end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Crimemas! Be Gay Do Crimes  
> BE  
> GAY
> 
> DO  
> CRIMES

For Billy, it ends with the knife fight, but it builds to it, a steady crescendo. He falls into conversation with Calvin before then. His fluency in Korean, and his quieter nature, make him easier to talk to than the overly exuberant James. For a moment, Billy sees their dynamic in terms of himself and Goody. One quiet, withdrawn, one charismatic and loud. Except reversed. He can now see the cracks in James’ act even more clearly. He behaves as American as possible, talks in a cheerful Texan drawl, and people don’t see him, so much, as a foreign threat. Where Billy shuts off, James talks all the more. And like with Goody, there’s a sense that a lot of it is a front. 

He talks with Calvin more anyway.

“Learnt from the farmhands we used to have,” Calvin admits, with greater ease and fluency than Billy’s heard anyone in a while, James included. “Speak a lot of languages like that. Near on every year we’d have someone new, and I’d learn from them. Helped when I wound up with James.”

“He’s fluent,” Billy says, earlier conversation with James fresh in his mind. “He’s faking the illiterate Texan thing. He told me so himself.”

“Yeah,” Calvin agrees. “He is. Likes to catch people off guard. Almost as much as he likes adopting random kids he finds.”

“Vali mentioned his parents-”

“James was working for the Sheriff’s office. Helping on a case. Some travelling performers killed in their wagon. The kid was tucked into a crawlspace.” Calvin shakes his head. “Of course, James sees an underdog story, and insists on taking the kid in. Not the first time he’s done this.”

There’s something familiar in the tired way Calvin looks across the bar at James, who is talking and charming and swapping outrageous stories that never happened with Goody as if they were old friends. And not old enemies. Billy knows right then what it is. He also knows nobody else in the bar can understand them right now - or if they can, they aren’t listening. 

“You love him.” Not a question. A statement.

“Yes,” Calvin replies without pause. “I was there when he got shot. Saw him go down. We held a funeral and I sobbed my heart out. Next day he drags himself in, covered in blood, and grinning like a crazy man. That’s James.”

“And why you were nervous about Goody.”

Calvin nods. “He...got so close last time. I can’t...I’ve known James most of my life. I can’t lose him.”

“I understand.” Billy glances down the bar at Goody. 

“Hey, Mr Rocks!” James calls, accent more profoundly obnoxious when he leans over. “Hear my boy wanted to learn from you. Best way to figure out an opponent is to fight him yourself, don’t you think?” He draws the knife he took from Vali from his pocket. “Outside. Now. First blood.”

Billy looks at Calvin, who sighs. “That’s James for you,” the blond says. 

He stands up and follows James to the door. On the way, Goody intercepts him. “Y’sure about this,  _ cher _ ?”

“Just going to be to first blood,” Billy replies coolly. “It’ll be fine.”

“This I gotta see,” Faraday says, pushing Vasquez out of his way and joining the crowd gathering in the street. 

James Kang is removing his shirt. Billy gets a glimpse of that back- a ruined mess of scars, the likes of which he’s seen before. In people who were flogged. James’ eyes steel, all mischief gone. Billy sizes up his opponent, and takes his shirt off too. He hears Goody whistle. Of course he does.

It begins. The ending. Just before they start, he sees Vali watching keenly. He smiles at the kid. Then looks back to his challenger. 

Billy is faster. That much is always the case, in any fight. This is no exception. James, however, has this bulldog tenacity about him. You can believe he’d walk off a bullet to the head. 

Faraday is collecting bets. 

Knives clink off one another. James’ technique is one Billy has seen before. For the most part, it’s a brawler’s, but the flexibility and skill speaks another story. An assassin’s. 

“Fuck, you’re quick,” James hisses, through gritted teeth. The easy drunk confidence he’d been projecting is gone. Billy knew it had been a front. He manages to dart out of the way of James’ empty fist by a breath. The other man laughs, like a madman, but it’s clear he isn’t that. He’s smart, calculating. He’s good at this.

It goes on longer than most fights Billy’s had. 

Both of them draw blood mere seconds after one another. James moves forward to cut Billy; Billy makes a thin red line across James’ wrist. By the time James’ knife finds its home, makes a nick on Billy’s shoulder, the fight is over, although nobody has noticed it. It’s when they stop, Billy gestures wordlessly to James’ hand and the man starts to laugh.

“You got me. Got me good. Hell, I’d owe you a drink for that one, if I hadn’t bought you one already. I got it. I’ll tell you anything you want to know. Any story you wanna hear. Just ask.”

“Your back.” Billy says, quietly, in their mother tongue. Not a question. A statement. 

James is quiet. “I’ll tell you something. My parents were upstanding citizens, you know. Earned themselves some rare respect, in the town we lived in. That’s why nobody believed a word I said against them whenever I asked for help. I changed my name to James, skipped town, and spent every hour of the day teaching myself to talk the way I do. I’m not...I’m not rejecting Korea. I’m just rejecting them.”

“I understand,” Billy replies, and then, recognising the eyes on them, steps away from James and back towards the others. Back to his own friends, his found family. The life he’s made for himself in America, as Billy Rocks. 

Of course he understands what it means to remake yourself. To become someone new.

To  _ become _ .

The others congratulate him. Goody pats him on the back as he passes him his shirt again. “Knew you’d do it.”

“Of course.”

It ends there, but before that, he goes over to Vali. “He’s confident. The best way to beat him is to let him lean into it. Let him get overconfident, and catch him unaware.”

The kid nods eagerly. “Thanks, Mister Rocks.”

He walks home with Goody, and they go to bed. Goody seems more relaxed now. The threat was proven to be nothing of the sort after all. 

It ends with the two of them.

“I love you,” he hears Goody say, in frankly awful Korean. But he’s trying.

He kisses him.

And it ends.

  
  


-

 

For Goody, it ends in the early morning. He can’t sleep, as ever, and he limps outside, leaving Billy to sleep off the fight. Which he’d won. Of course he’d won. He’s Billy Rocks. Goody loves him. 

He heads outside, lights himself a cigarette, and smokes.

“Been a nice night,” a low voice says. He looks up to see James. A ghost in the dark, lit by the glow of opium and tobacco. “Was good catching up.”

Goody inhales deeply. “Yeah. It was.”

“Wanted some air. Or to talk. With real words, not the lies we both know too well.” James is slouching, hands in his pockets. He seems ill-at-ease. “I’ll tell you the truth, Robicheaux. I knew you were in town. Had to look you in the eyes again.” His accent seems to slip a little. He still sounds American, more than Billy, but he sounds less outrageous about it. 

“What now? That you’ve done that? ‘Cause I tell ya, you can hurt me, but Billy? He won’t ever let you rest easy. He’ll dog you until your grave.”

James laughs, hollow and empty. “No. You killed a lot of my friends, I killed my share of yours. ‘Sides, I don’t want that son-of-a-gun on my back, no sir, ‘specially if that scrap showed me anything. Showed me I’m old an’ tired, for one. You shot me, I bought you a drink. We’re even.”

Goody shakes his head in confusion. “That ain’t how it...not usually. Why are you so forgiving on this? You’d have every right to try kill me.”

“Yeah, I would,” James agrees. “But hell, always did like you. Let’s put it another way. I spared your life when we first met. Don’t much fancy going back on that now.” He stares up at the stars, and whistles. “Heck of a night.”

Goody still doesn’t really understand this man, or his thought processes. Or why he’s never seemed inclined to kill him. He could have, years ago. He could even now.

He doesn’t. 

Maybe it’s the shared knowledge that they’re both fakes. Both of them are hiding behind false selves. Maybe it’s the fact there are few enough men who understand the things they did for their respective sides. Maybe it’s just an act of mercy.

“Glad you’re alive,” he says, eventually. “Anyone deserves a second chance-”

“It’s you,” James finishes. “Look at this town. And your cutesie little house. And Mr Rocks. You’ve got something special.” He glances around, and shrugs. “I’ll be off. Leave you to it.”

“You better get Vali those knives,” Goody calls after him. “He’s gonna deserve them.”

He hears James laugh, sees the man turn and wave. And then he’s off.

Goody goes back inside and back to bed. Curls up next to Billy.

It ends. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaaaaaaand there we go 
> 
> I actually finished this fic a few weeks ago but I've had......a massive mood slump, so I wasn't emotionally ready to post it until now. I have two proper Goodnight/Billy fics that I gotta type up (they're finished, they just need the editing) that are far less self-indulgent.
> 
> .....i guess I wrote this at a particular time in my life when I was very low. It means a lot to me because of that.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who's commented. it means a lot. You've carried me through a really tough time. I can't express my gratitude enough.  
> Thank you.


End file.
